


What would the Creed say?

by Scoby



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Making Out, Mandalorian Flamethrower Used as a Hairdryer, Morning Cuddles, Sensuality, Slow Dancing, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Touch-Starved Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28972326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scoby/pseuds/Scoby
Summary: “Where are we going?”“We’re leaving before I kill him for looking at you like that. Like you were something less. Something to ignore. Something…”“It’s ok. Why would I care? Why would I care, whenyoulook at me likethat?”“How do you know how I look at you?”“I just know. Can we stay at least for one dance?”
Relationships: Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 15
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Cara rarely shows up at his door. The town is small enough for them to bump into each other on the street often enough. Or if she needs something, she comms. But now, her fist hammers at the doorbell, then at the door itself when Din does not immediately respond. Once he slides the door open, her desperate eyes meet him.

“You’ve got to help me”, she bursts out.

“What is it?” Din is already reaching for his rifle but Cara stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Nothing like that. The New Republic has chosen Nevarro as the Transformer of the Year.”

“That - sounds great…”

“Not so easy. It’s not like they just ship the award over and we hang it in Greef’s office. They’re organising a ball to announce it. Everyone who helped Nevarro clean up and rebuild is invited, including you.”

“Thanks, but I’m not coming to a ball.”

“Please, you have to! You know how much I hate that kind of stuff, too. I need you there to save me from awkward small talk with the officers and to smile at me encouragingly during my speech.”

“Smile at you? Are you sure I’m the best person for that?”

“I know you do it from time to time, even though I can’t see it.”

Din has to admit that her words make him smile under his helmet. And she responds by slightly loosening up and letting her own mouth curve a little. But he swallows in an effort to keep his voice serious.

“Couldn’t Greef do it for you a lot better?”

“He’s going to snake among the New Republic crowd like everyone was his oily cousin. I need there somebody who’s on my level – somebody who hates it as much as I do. Mando? Please?”

“Ok, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” Cara’s whole being relaxes like she had just eliminated an imperial patrol threatening her life. “Then there’s one more thing I should tell you. The invitation is for two.”

“And?”

“You know what it means. You can bring somebody.”

“Why would I bring somebody to a ball?”

“I was just thinking that maybe you’d like to. Like for example, hypothetically, that widow from Sorgan.”

“Omera?”

“Think about it. In any case, I’d suggest you go visit her, at least to take the kid to her people. There’ll be lots of ships coming in for the ball and we can’t keep an eye on everyone. It’ll be an easy time for mercenaries to sneak in. He’d be safer on Sorgan than on Nevarro.”

Din admits quietly that Cara has a point.

The day before the ball, he borrows an old, small shuttle from Greef, buckles up Grogu and takes off.

“Do you still remember your friends on Sorgan?” he asks when the suspiciously rattling sounds of the ship quiet down as they settle in hyperspace.

Grogu coos in response in a promising way.

“You’ll spend a couple of days with them, ok? I have something I need to do, and then I’ll come back for you. You understand?”

He blinks his overly large eyes in a way that could mean anything. Din chooses to interpret it so that he understands and does not mind.

It is early evening in the village when they arrive. Almost everything looks exactly the same, like he could have left yesterday. Krill harvest is underway and racks full of blue shimmering creatures are stacked everywhere among the ponds and houses. The only difference is that each one of the kids who run to greet them looks a bit taller and older. After spending so much time with Grogu, Din is astonished that human children can grow this fast.

He puts Grogu down in the midst of the excited kids, and he immediately toddles up to Winta to hug her leg, making her giggle.

“You’re back!” Winta nearly screams.

“For a couple of days”, Din says. After a bit of hesitation, he adds: “I found out his name is Grogu.”

“Grogu?”

Grogu instantly coos when hearing Winta use his name. Din smiles in relief, already happy about bringing him here again.

“Winta, is your mother at home?” he asks.

“Sure.” She nods towards their house as she starts running towards the closest pond with the other kids to watch Grogu catch a frog.

Din takes a deep breath and sets out towards the house. But he does not even reach it when Omera appears through the doorway. She is carrying a basket of laundry in her arms but drops it when she sees him. A bunch of blue and grey clothes and linen scatter on the ground.

“I’m sorry.” Din kneels down to help her gather the laundry back in the basket.

“It’s ok. I was just about to wash them anyway. How come you’re back?”

She stuffs the final light blue pillow case in the basket and then there is nothing more to do, nothing more to occupy their hands with. They are both still kneeling on the ground, now just staring at each other. It takes time to find words. Under the soft light of the gradually setting sun, she looks even more beautiful than he remembered.

“I need to leave the kid here for a couple of days. I lost my ship and we live in Nevarro now, but there’s a New Republic award ball tomorrow. With lots of guests, you know.”

“Sure, he’ll be absolutely safe here.”

She makes a move to stand up and pick up her basket again, but he stops her by grabbing her wrist.

“Do you want to come with me?”

“To a ball? Eh, I don’t know… I don’t have anything to wear for a New Republic event.”

 _You look gorgeous in that_ , he wants to say about the worn-out blue dress that hugs the gentle curves of her sides and drapes over her long legs that are now folded beneath her. Instead, he settles for:

“Neither do I.”

That makes Omera laugh. Her laugh is whole-hearted and radiates a sense of warmth and lightness that covers everything around her, including Din’s heart.

“Well, let’s go then. What are we waiting for?” she says, stands up and picks up the laundry basket again.

But instead of continuing her way to the laundry pond, she stuffs it inside the house to wait for another day. She gathers a few of her belongings in a small bag and drops by at the next house to agree with her neighbours that they will watch her daughter and Grogu. Then she explains Winta that she will be back in a couple of days, and after a brief, tight hug, she is ready to go.

The borrowed ship is a simple and outdated model, but Omera is fascinated with everything about it, especially the vastness of space so visible right behind the transparisteel of the cockpit canopy and how the star systems streak past them when they enter hyperspace. She has never been out of Sorgan before.

The whole way from Nevarro, Din kept cursing at the ship and its rusty controls. But the way how Omera’s eyes shine when she marvels at her surroundings elevates the whole rattletrap. It makes him grudge not taking her anywhere when he still had Razor Crest. He finds himself thinking way too long ahead about what kind of ship he should save money for and all the planets he should show Omera with it. He shakes it off, though, as he is in no position to believe that her joining him for one over-formal event would mean that she would want anything like that with him.

When he turns to take another look at her, she has dozed off in her seat, head dipped to the side towards her shoulder. It stings him how uncomfortable it looks, but since there is nothing he can do about it, he lets his own head fall in a similar fashion and closes his eyes.

The ship rattles them awake when gracelessly dropping out of hyperspace. Din switches off the autopilot and steers them gradually down to Nevarro’s atmosphere, then to the spaceport outside of the town. The landing pads are crowded with fancy-looking Core Worlder ships. He has to squeeze the small craft between two of them, only mildly scratching the other one.

It is already well past mid-day, and the sunlit streets are way fuller than usual. New Republic officers and their avecs are swarming around, everyone curious to have a peek at ordinary life on the planet that made such a legendary transformation from a bounty hunter hive and imperial hideout into a beacon of civilisation in the Outer Rim.

Omera freezes at the sight of people sweeping by, dressed in lavish, colourful fabrics and followed by clouds of exotic perfumes. She looks down at her own dress and inhales sharply like she was sniffing. Clumsily, Din takes her arm and stammers:

“Uh, you – you look – great. I mean – you really do. Really, I mean…”

His effort to voice his thoughts is rewarded by her smile partly recovering.

“Could I at least bathe before we go?” she asks.

He nods and leads her through the crowded street. Even through his helmet, he can smell the overload of fragrancies as ever fancier people pass them by. Once they are inside his apartment, he breathes out in relief.

Somebody answers his prayers and he does have one clean towel in the closet. He hands it to Omera, and she disappears into the bathroom.

Din uses the time alone to eat the leftovers of yesterday’s dinner. No matter how fancy dinner they might be about to get, he is definitely not going to eat in the crowd.

* * *

“Are we in a hurry?” she asks as she exits the bathroom, wearing the same dress again and shuffling her endless stream of wet hair with the towel.

“Soon. Ready to go?”

From her persistently self-conscious look, he knows that something is still wrong. He wishes he could say or do something, anything that would make her believe that she is perfect just as she is and no amount of New Republic officers in their expensive outfits should make her think otherwise. He opens his mouth, but words refuse to come out.

“My hair is still wet.” She frowns and tries to shuffle more forcefully.

He smiles, because that is finally something he can fix. “Come here.”

She steps closer, close enough that he can smell his own soap on her, and something earthy beneath it, something of her. Carefully, he ungloves his left hand and slides its fingers into her hair to separate a section of it and brush through it to gently pull it to the side. Then, he turns on the flamethrower on his right wrist.

He keeps the heat very low, so that the flame becomes just a puff of warm air that he can direct on her hair. Like that, he goes through all of it, section by section, from root to tip, several times, until it is all dry and silky. Still, he pretends for a few moments that there is some water left, just out of reluctance to let go of the caress of the soft threads on the skin of his hand.

Finally, knowing that they are most probably in a hurry already, he turns off the flamethrower and fights his left hand out of her hair and back in its glove.

“Thank you”, she says and takes his hand. And that is how they walk all the way to the giant ballroom tent raised by the edge of the lava field.

Plenty of fancily dressed couples pass them holding each other’s arms in bizarre configurations, and it crosses his mind that the correct thing to do would probably be to copy that. But he quickly disregards the thought because it is so thrilling to simply hold her hand. Even through his glove, he can feel a trace of its warmth. And every time she sees something that excites or amuses her, she squeezes slightly tighter. That makes his knees a lot weaker than they should be, considering that they are in a crowd that technically could hide people who are on the lookout for a bounty for his head.

The event starts with a dinner, and the sitting order places Din and Omera in the same table with other ex-members of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild who have helped with Nevarro’s renewal. Din decides that if this is a demonstration of Greef’s wicked sense of humour, he is going to pay for it. It is far from pleasant to try to hold up a casual conversation with people who have greeted you with blaster fire last time you met.

But Omera becomes his saviour. She does not tire of asking questions about Nevarro and other worlds the bounty hunters have seen, carefully keeping the discussion far away from anything personal to Din. And when nobody is looking, she makes subtle, lightning-quick moves to steal bites from his plate and sips from his glass, so that the end result looks like both of them have eaten their share.

After dinner, a shrill fanfare fills the tent. The following silence is broken by the master of ceremonies. She is a young Rodian and apparently a HoloNet star, though Din and Omera have never seen her. But they figure that much out quickly, as many of the other bounty hunters recognise her and launch into thirsty comments about the overly generous neckline of her dress.

“Honoured Senators, Honoured Magistrate, Honoured Marshal, Honoured Honorary Guests, Ladies and Gentlemen. We are here to celebrate the journey of a seedy backwater planet into a womb of civilisation, culture, peace, loyalty and justice…”

Din glimpses at Cara at the table closest to the stage, surrounded by senators and officers. He finds her gazing straight at him, looking lost. He makes a slow nod and tries to smile under his helmet just like she asked. That makes her relax a little before tensing again even more when the Rodian finishes:

“…and now, to tell us how it all happened, please welcome the Marshal of Nevarro, Carasynthia Dune.”

Cara walks up to the stage like a protocol droid. Din has seen her face battalions of stormtroopers and a variety of killing machines, but he has never seen her this terrified. He concentrates on smiling when she looks straight at him and then down to her wrist and starts reading from it.

“Honoured Senators, Honoured Magistrate, Honoured Honorary Guests, Ladies and Gentlemen. This is a day of great honour and joy for the people of Nevarro. This planet used to be known as a disruptel… errr… disreputable home of mercenaries and criminals, but we made our choice and rebuilt a community that acq… acquis… acquiesces to the values of the New Republic and emergerger… dank farrik, who wrote these words..? Sorry.”

She turns her wrist, stops reading from it and speaks straight to the officer that has been sitting next to her for the dinner:

“I mean that here, now, we give a kriff. About each other, about the environment, about the future. And that kriffing shows. Thanks for this award but we’d be doing this anyway because this is the world we want, for ourselves and for our kids. The real ones to thank are all of you here who helped. Many of you risked your lives for people you don’t even know.”

Her eyes scan through the bounty hunters’ table and ends up at a long one filled with teachers, social workers, doctors, nurses and construction workers.

“And many more have done the silent everyday work that’s difficult to notice from the Core Worlds. But here we notice, dank farrik!”

Her gaze wonders back to her own table and she seems to tense up and shrink a little again, suddenly conscious about the possibility that she went too far.

“I mean, thank you for the award, too. Really, thank you.” She picks up reading from her wrist again. “On behalf of the people of Nevarro, I offer our sincere and profound gratitude. May the Force be with you.”

She shrinks even more and blushes when the whole tent breaks into roaring applause, including the people at her own table.

The master of ceremonies welcomes Greef Karga to speak next, and after him several senators. The last one of them hands Greef the award and he makes the whole tent laugh by pretending to be crushed under the weight of its aurodium frame.

Din chuckles a little, too, for the first time during the evening. He feels pleasantly sure that the worst is over. Even Cara looks visibly relaxed, and he has even seen her vividly talking with the officers around her between the speeches.

When the master of ceremonies congratulates Nevarro once more and signals the band to start playing, Cara waves at him and starts walking to his direction, followed by an officer in a long, cream white coat with a wide orange ribbon over the chest. Eager to get as far from their table as possible, he stands up and takes Omera with him to meet them in the middle of the dining area.

“This is our Mandalorian in residence”, Cara introduces, beaming and sounding like she probably has a couple of extra glasses of Toniray wine in her.

Din tenses up when he recognises the officer, but the man almost lunges to shake his hand. “I’m Captain Teva. Marshal Dune just told me about your part in taking down Nevarro’s last imperial base. That was heroic, just what the galaxy needs. I’m glad we released you when we had a chance.”

Din manages a flustered nod and silently begs Cara to say something. Somehow, she seems to pick that up.

“And this is Omera of Sorgan.” She gestures at Omera who candidly holds out her hand.

Captain Teva takes one evaluative look at her from head to toe, decides to ignore her completely and turns back to Din.

“I also heard that you lost your ship. We could get you into a new one in the New Republic navy. With your track record, you’d get to fly anything you want.”

Omera’s smile fades and her hand falls by her side. Din grabs it in his own and brushes his thumb reassuringly over her knuckles. He glares at Teva, who does not seem to get it because his cheesy grin only widens.

“I’m not a joiner”, Din says with ice in his voice.

“Think about it”, he tries but Din is already pulling Omera with him towards the exit.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“We’re leaving before I kill him for looking at you like that. Like you were something less. Something to ignore. Something… Haar’chak, di’kut!”

Din paces intently forward but Omera stops him with her free hand on his shoulder. He turns to look at her and it is breathtaking how she can be so gentle and fierce and beautiful at the same time. Her hand glides from his shoulder pad over his chest plate, and even though he can feel so little of it through the beskar, the touch both grounds him down and makes him soar. How can this miracle of a being impact him like this, like she was ignoring all the layers of armour?

“It’s ok”, she says. “Why would I care how he looks at me? Why would I care, when _you_ look at me like _that_?”

“How do you know how I look at you?”

“I just know. And this is my first and maybe only time to a ball in my life. Can we stay at least for one dance?”

“Uh, I don’t know about that… I have no idea how to…”

His hesitation makes her giggle.

“Neither do I. We’ll figure it out. Just look at them.” She points towards the couples swaying on the dance floor. “You’ve pulled off harder stunts than that.”

Inside his head, Din is not entirely sure that she is right. But her smile is convincing, and step by step, he follows her into the colourful mix of dancers. Mimicking others around her, Omera leans into him and wraps her long, slender arms around his waist. And he does not even have to look at others because her back is more than naturally inviting his arms around it.

She keeps fidgeting with her head, though. Several times, she twists it around and experiments on laying it down against his shoulder, seeking a comfortable position for it to rest against the hard surface of the beskar – and failing.

“Oh, sorry”, he says and reaches an arm behind his back to gather his cloak and drape it over his shoulder.

“Thank you.” She rests her head on the bundle of fabric and finally relaxes.

They let the music take over and softly sway in its rhythm. And he finds out that she was right: he has pulled off harder stunts than this. In fact, this is among the most pleasant ones. He lets himself bathe in her touch like in a hot spring at the heart of an ice planet.

This close, he can clearly make out her simple, earthy, intriguing scent beneath the myriad of perfumes swirling in the air. He switches on the smell enhancer in his helmet and really breathes it in. And under his hands, he feels how her back is moving with heavier breaths, too, as she nuzzles her nose into the crook between the edge of his helmet and the base of his neck.

“Can we get out of here now?” she asks in a breathy voice when the song ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that [this is the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePFwJk_RNR4) they dance.
> 
> The second chapter is about to come out on Valentine's Day. Because we're about to enter a major cuddle zone <3


	2. Chapter 2

"Can we get out of here now?"

“Sure”, he says and reluctantly pulls away from her enough to take her hand again and walk out of the tent.

Walking is just not so easy when his insides seem to be in a wild spin. He thinks it is because of the chemicals in the air and turns off his smell enhancer. But it does not fully fix it. Something about this woman is messing him up. And even though it makes him far less alert than he would prefer to be when walking through the nightly, over-crowded town, he cannot bring himself to mind.

But before they reach his home, there is one thing he has to make himself ask:

“Do you want to go back home? I can take you right away if you want.”

She brings her free hand up to massage her neck. “I wouldn’t like to sleep another night on the ship. If it’s ok for me to stay, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Of course”, he hurries to say, mind racing into imagining her in his bed, in his arms all night… But that is way ahead of things. He will have to think about something else.

“You can take the bed”, he says when they enter through the front door and points towards the bedroom. “I’m fine sleeping on the floor.”

Omera walks into the bedroom, turns on the light and takes in the small space with nothing but one closet, a covered window, a baby-sized cot with a worn-out soft loth-cat toy half-buried under a fluffy blanket, a night stand that is really just a three-legged, slightly crooked table, and a bed that looks like it is made for approximately one and a half adults.

“There’s space for both of us”, she concludes and walks back past him to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

“Are you sure?”

“Of coh”, she mumbles with a curious-looking wooden toothbrush in her mouth.

After she is done with her teeth, she leaves the bathroom for him to do the same without her looking. When he makes it to the bedroom, he finds her already under the covers, fidgeting with her head again, experimenting with laying it on her arm or directly on the mattress.

“Uh, I don’t use a pillow, you know”, he says. “But I can figure out something for you.”

Before she can tell him that it is not necessary, he takes the entire mattress out of Grogu’s bed and nudges it under her head. He immediately loves how contently she smiles when she finds out how it is exactly the right size and firmness.

He hesitates a long moment before joining her, though. Living with Grogu for months without anyone threatening them, he has got into a habit of stripping his armour and only wearing his long-sleeved underclothes and helmet for sleeping. But now he wonders if that would be too little. Like she could read his thoughts, Omera’s sleepy voice says:

“Mando, this is your home. Please try not to let me disturb you. Just wear what you normally would and come here.”

His tired and fuzzy mind is glad to let her decide for him. He peels off his gloves and the pieces of his armour into a heap on the floor next to Omera’s much tinier pile of clothes. Clothed in just his usual sleeping gear, he lays his blaster in its habitual position on the nightstand and crawls next to her.

First, he tries to stay so far away from her that he has to tense every muscle to stop himself from falling off the bed. When she notices that, she turns her back to him and inches herself as close to the wall as she can. That gives him a bit more space but still does not make it any easier to fall asleep.

Omera seems to drift off, though, judging from the way how her breathing falls into a slow and steady rhythm interrupted only by occasional sniffles. It makes it increasingly tempting to extend his hand just a few inches to experiment gliding it down her back that is only covered by a thin undershirt now. Or maybe her top arm where the skin is bare and looking impossibly soft in the gloom. He could easily see a lot more by simply flicking on his infrared vision.

Without a conscious thought, his hand already creeps up to his helmet. But he opts for only turning the smell enhancer back on and curling his hands against his chest, determined to only indulge a little in her scent before falling asleep. He is definitely not going to touch her without permission or use infrared vision to look through the blanket and her clothes.

But she does smell enchanting. He should probably turn off the enhancer to make it even remotely possible to fall asleep so close to her. If only he could think about anything else but how her earthy scent seems to originate from her neck and filter through her hair. His fingers curl against each other when he remembers the silky feel of all that hair between them. And suddenly all he can think about is how it would feel all around his nose, and how she would exactly smell like, not suppressed or enhanced by the helmet but for real, with only a thin strip of air between them.

He listens very quietly for a moment. Since she sounds like fast asleep, he very carefully moves his hands to ease off his helmet and place it next to the blaster on the nightstand. Then he inches closer, until his nose touches her hair. It is unbelievably subtle and intense at the same time, feeling like both way too much and way too little. And something about it pulls his face forward like a primal magnet, until he can feel her hair all over his forehead and cheeks and lips.

The tip of his nose touches something soft but firm, and he knows it must be her neck, and he really should back away now, but he just does not. Like his nose had a will of its own, it slowly brushes along her skin. Intoxicated by the fragrance and warmth and closeness, he takes a deeper breath, and that is when she stirs.

Din realises she is awake and immediately tenses up and begins to reluctantly pull away. But right then, a miracle happens. Omera’s hand reaches up and behind her, fingers intertwining in his hair. Like that, she pulls him back. And not only back to where he was but even closer. In the next moment, her hand is in her own hair, pulling it aside to make space for him to press his nose and lips straight on the bare skin of her neck. With a blind hand behind her, she caresses the top and back of his head as he nuzzles his face from side to side against the sweet softness of her skin. A muffled groan escapes his mouth and he snakes an arm over her waist to pull her closer. She drapes her own arm over his with a content sigh.

The next thing he knows is that he wakes up. He has no memory of falling asleep, but at some point it must have happened. And in their sleep, they have shifted to that he is now lying on his back and Omera has one leg draped over his and one arm over his stomach. Grogu’s mattress has been abandoned and instead, she is using his chest as her pillow.

How long has he slept? Probably for hours, because sunlight already filters in through the window covers. And has she slept all the time, too? Or has she – done something that would make him have to abandon the Creed for life?

Looking down, all he can see of her is abundance of dark hair flowing all over his shoulder. Something about her quiet form convinces him that she would never do it without his permission. Trying not to disturb her sleep, he reaches an arm towards the nightstand to pick up his helmet. But she notices and, without looking up, grabs his arm to stop it and pull it back and around her.

“I don’t feel like opening my eyes yet”, she says.

And then she does lift her head. Keeping her eyes closed, she snuggles her face into the crook of his neck, and then upwards. She moves slowly, like wanting to be sure to give him time to stop her if he wants to.

He does wonder what the Creed would say about this, when the side of her face brushes over his cheek, until their eyebrows touch and her nose settles on his cheekbone. But he lets it happen. Because it is thrilling to touch and be touched like this. Because her face is warm and soft and her body is still half over him. Because he feels like she is flushing his whole body with a flamethrower of her own.

“Mmm-hmm…” he rather feels than hears her croon against his cheek.

And then she tentatively turns her head a little, so that her lips nudge the corner of his mouth. She pauses there to wait for his reaction but does not have to wait for long. Reflexively, his breath hitches and his lips part, because he is literally starving for this.

He can feel her smile against the edge of his lips as she moves her mouth across his, until she reaches the middle where she sinks in her lower lip. He immediately clenches his lips and tongue around it. It is soft and delicious – too much and too little at the same time. He opens his mouth wider so that she can change her angle and sink deeper, this time with her tongue that tastes similar as the forest smells like on Sorgan.

“Mando, I love how you taste… how you feel… nnngh”, she whispers against his mouth.

The combination of her words and touch make him not only feel like he could faint right there, but also crave for something more.

“When we’re like this, you could call me Din, if you want.”

“Din? Is that your…?”

“Yes”, he manages to breathe out. He has totally underestimated how his name would sound in her voice. And now she keeps repeating it between kisses, as her hands dig into his hair. She keeps losing patience, though, pressing down against his mouth gradually harder, like she was starving for this as much as he is.

They completely lose the track of time devouring each other. It feels so perfect that they need to stop and laugh. Omera giggles so hard that she has to roll on her back and bury her eyes into the crook of her elbow to stop them from opening. And that is an excellent position to pin her shaking body down and whisper in her ear:

“K’uur, cyar’ika, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

“I don’t know what that means”, she says through remains of laughter.

“I think you do.”

That makes her pause and breathe heavier again. He plants kisses all along her jawline. Then he eases her arm off her face so that he can kiss her closed eyes, drag his nose over her eyebrows and forehead and kiss the bridge of her nose. His lips wander down her cheek and neck, all the way to her collar bone. He slides his mouth back and forth over it before laying his head on her chest where he can listen to her heartbeat. It sounds as quick as his own, but as he lies there and lets his hand trace gentle circles over her abdomen, both their hearts and breathings steady a little. That is when he first hears her stomach rumble.

“We should get you breakfast”, he says, rubbing her belly with a bit more pressure.

She stretches her body even longer and slenderer, with a protesting moan.

“I’ll make it for you. You don’t have to get up just yet”, he assures and gives her mouth a final kiss before covering his head with his helmet.

He goes to the kitchen to search through the pantry, and it is as he feared: he only has polystarch bread, and the jar of jogan fruit jam has only a little layer left on the bottom, marked by a three-fingered handprint. When he first caught Grogu eating handfuls of jam straight from the jar, he started keeping it on the top shelf. But that does little to stop Grogu from using the Force to take it down when he is not looking.

It looks like it will be enough for one frugal portion for Omera, though. He turns on the caf extractor and grows one loaf of polystarch with water. Once the bread has risen, he cuts it in half with his vibro-knife and toasts each side lightly with his flamethrower. Carefully, he manages to stretch out what is left of the jam to spread it thinly over the bread halves. After pouring the caf into a cup, he returns to the bedroom.

He finds Omera curled up under the blanket. When she sees him, she smiles and stretches out her arms as a prompt for him to come back. He bends down between them so that she can fold them around his shoulder, but instead of letting her pull him back to bed, he scoops his arms under the blanket and under her and lifts up the now adorably screaming woman.

In the kitchen, he puts her down on a chair by the table. She folds her legs against her chest and wraps the blanket around everything to cover her barely clothed body from the cool morning air. And then, she starts eating the ascetic breakfast with delightful enthusiasm.

* * *

Grogu cries out with excitement when he sees Din again and toddles straight into his arms when he squats down to greet him.

“Was it nice?”

Grogu coos in the affirmative and Winta giggles at him when her mother releases her from a hug.

“Looks like we should come to visit here again soon, then”, Din says and not only to Grogu.

He thanks Omera’s neighbours and says goodbye to Winta and the other kids. Finally, he blows Omera an air kiss, and even though she cannot see it, maybe she understands, judging from the way how her smile turns even more radiant.

When taking off, stumbling out of the atmosphere and entering hyperspace with a crashing sound, Din makes a mental note that he needs to borrow a better ship next time. Or maybe find a few well-paying jobs so that he could finally buy a new one of his own. But first, there is something else he needs to address.

“Grogu?” he starts.

He coos and blinks his eyes with his most adorable expression in response, just like he was already guessing where this is going. But Din is not going to let him change the subject.

“I saw that most of our jogan jam has disappeared and there's a handprint in the bottom of the jar. Do you have something to do with it?”

He blinks again with his mouth ajar like he had no idea what Din is talking about.

“No? Then I wonder who else in our house has a three-fingered hand in your size.”

Grogu’s gaze drops down and Din lets silence fall between them to give him time to think. In his own head, he is making a list for grocery shopping that they will have to do on the way home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, feed me with kudos/comments and find me on [Tumblr](https://iamscoby.tumblr.com/) (more Mandalorian) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/IamScoby) (more Reylo)


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